The Experiment
by writergal85
Summary: Based on the 2006 movie, rather than strictly on the book. The beginnings of Jane and Rochester's romance, as seen by an observant scientist and friend, Mr. John Eshton. FINISHED! THANKS FOR READING!
1. The Invitation

There was something rather odd about Edward Fairfax Rochester.

John Eshton was very familiar with most of his friend's eccentricities. For example, his insistence on living alone in Thornfield Hall, a drafty and dark old family home, though he could easily afford to build a more pleasant abode; his reluctance to accept company and mingle in polite society, though he was charming and gregarious; and his penchant for travel to places no one else wanted to visit, such as the Mongolian wilderness. Combine all these with his gruff and frequently sarcastic demeanor, and you had a man formed of quirks and contradictions, but a throughly interesting man nonetheless. And a good friend as well, Eshton knew. They had been friends since their school days and understood each other, he thought.

But Fairfax's latest behavior puzzled him to no end. It involved the Ingrams, a family Eshton knew his friend tolerated, but was not fond of. The family was respectable enough and the daughters were handsome – the eldest in particular, Blanche Ingram, was regarded as the belle of the county. But there was a certain pridefulness about them, as if they knew they were handsome and respectable and demanded they be recognized for it. It was whispered in social circles that neither of the girls would inherit much of a living allowance – the estate was to go to the son – so their mother, Lady Ingram, was constantly pushing both of them into the company of rich, landowning bachelors.

Her favorite and perpetual target was Edward Rochester. Thus, when she heard that Eshton was having a house party and was likely to invite his old school friend, she finagled an invite.

Yet, when he was informed that he would be spending a fortnight or more in a house with a family he could not stand, Rochester had not backed out, as Eshton expected him to. Indeed, he said that he would "be rather glad to see the Miss Ingrams," without a hint of sarcasm.

And once arrived at the house, he had not shied away from Blanche, her sister Mary, or even Lady Ingram when they approached him for conversation. Lady Ingram had spent most of this evening before dinner extolling her daughter's musical talents, while Blanche blushed and pretended to be meek. Rochester listened thoughtfully and did not stray from the conversation, though Eshton had tried to meet his eye several times to offer him a chance to escape.

After dinner, Rochester had moved on to discussing some matter quietly in a corner with Blanche and whatever it was must have been fascinating as well, for he nodded and chuckled at all the appropriate moments and seemed entirely focused on her. Curious, Eshton moved over to the window closest to them in the pretext of looking over the grounds, so he might listen to their conversation.

"I do wish we could have gone riding today – 'tis a pity the ground is so wet and unsuitable. But I should hate to spoil my riding habit with mud," she said, pouting.

"Well, perhaps it is for the best," Rochester replied, giving her a charming smile. "It gives us more time to talk – and to continue our guessing game."

Blanche fluttered her eyelashes coyly and Rochester smiled wider. Eshton swallowed his disgust and turned his gaze back to the window, but continued to listen.

"I'm tired of guessing games – tell me, when shall I see Thornfield Hall in all its splendor?" she cooed. "Shall it be soon?"

"Yes, Rochester," Lady Ingram said, butting her way into the conversation. "When shall we see this splendid home of yours? We are all quite curious"

"Yes, indeed – I have not been the most gracious of hosts," Rochester conceded. He paused, seemed to ponder something heavily for a moment. A roguish grin spread across his features.

"Well ladies," he said, raising his voice for the rest of the room to hear. "Perhaps we shall continue our merrymaking there, in a fortnight."

The other women in the room began chattering and gasping in delight. Eshton nearly gasped himself – Fairfax Rochester had not given a party at the hall since he inherited it 15 years ago. And suddenly, all it took was a soft voice and a toss of blond curls to make him relent? He had always insisted that he despised the Ingrams and would never do anything to please them – and now he was going to welcome them in his home? What had changed? Did he intend to marry Blanche Ingram?

"Yes, yes," Rochester said, after the din had quieted down. "I shall write to the house immediately and inform them to prepare for a grand fete a fortnight from now. You are all invited – provided your current host can spare you."

He turned to where Eshton stood and winked, as if he knew his friend had been listening all along.

So in a fortnight, John Eshton was to travel to Thornfield Hall. As he prepared for bed that evening, he wondered if his friend's bizarre behavior would continue once the soiree had moved to his own house. And since Eshton was of a scientific mind, he did what came most naturally to him when he was curious – he decided to conduct an experiment. He pulled out a pocket notebook and wrote:

"_The Cause of Unnatural and Peculiar Behavior in Mr. Edward Fairfax Rochester."_

_Hypothesis: The subject wishes to marry Blanche Ingram_


	2. The Arrival

The Introductions

15 March 18–

_Arrived at Thornfield today. Minor change in subject's behavior since last recording. Seemed distracted before dinner and did not respond promptly to questions from guests. Worried about approval from B?_

Eshton sighed and read over his entries from the past few weeks. He had been watching his friend keenly and had seen little change in his strange behavior. He was attentive, polite, even charming to Blanche, Lady Ingram and Mary all through the rest of his house party. He did not complain when seated next to them at dinner and continued to seek out their company afterwards. He continued to engage Blanche in muted conversations in corners and hallways which Eshton, playing the gracious host to the rest of his guests, could not overhear. It seemed Rochester really did wish to marry Blanche Ingram, and Eshton, though he wished to be happy for his friend, did not think this was right.

When it came time to depart for Thornfield, Rochester insisted on going on horseback along with Blanche, rather than take a carriage. She, of course, was delighted by this proposal, but it made Eshton cross. It put the two key subjects in his experiment out of his sight for several hours. He had gone quite mad in the carriage, having been seated across from Lady Ingram, who chattered endlessly and Mary Ingram, who did not talk, but only simpered and sighed in a woebegone fashion every ten minutes. He would have much preferred to have gotten the carriage with the twin sisters, Louisa and Amelia Dent. He found them _fascinating_.

Luckily, he was able to escape as soon as they arrived at Thornfield. When all the guests had freshened up and come downstairs again to mingle before dinner, the Ingrams descended on Rochester like a pack of ravenous she-wolves. This left Eshton free to flirt casually with the twins, while also discreetly observing Rochester and Ingrams interact across the room.

Not that there was much to watch. Rochester was the same. He chatted politely. He smiled easily at them. He chuckled fondly at all of the ladies' remarks. He was utterly charming. Eshton was bored.

And yet, he remembered now, that about ten minutes before dinner, there had been a discreet, almost imperceptible change in his friend's countenance. The only reason he had noticed it at all was because he had been watching Rochester so closely these past weeks.

Fairfax began to fall out of the conversation with the Ingrams. He listened more and talked less. He lost his relaxed stance. And he kept glancing up every so often to the mezzanine above the drawing room. Eshton followed his gaze.

Two children sat on the floor there, peeping over the railing at the party below. No – it was only one child, he saw after a second glance. She was dressed in a bright, flowered frock and yawning, about to fall asleep. The other girl there, dressed much plainer, must have been her governess or nursemaid, though she was a very small one. She often turned her eyes away from the party to watch the sleeping child. Though she smiled, she looked sad and out of place, as though she did not want to be on the balcony watching the party, but she did not want to join the guests either. She did not belong.

Perhaps Rochester had noticed the child and her governess and had been angry that they were watching, Eshton thought, as he recorded notes in his journal. Perhaps he was worried Blanche or her mother might see them and not be pleased. Eshton hoped, if the governess had to be chastised or even worse, dismissed, for her behavior, that it would not upset the party. He did not like hysterics and separating a servant from her employment and a child from her beloved nursemaid usually produced them.

Eshton did not get any more chances to observe the governess and Rochester's reaction to her presence that evening, for the gong soon sounded for dinner. He saw his friend glance up at the balcony level one last time before they all went to the dining room; he looked especially grim. Oh yes, Eshton thought – tomorrow could be very interesting.


	3. The Problem with Governesses

_16 March 18–_

_Subject appears to be allowing B. more control. Today, listened to her openly insult a servant, then berated the same servant himself. Allowing B. more power in prep. for marriage? Subject also appears more agitated. Worried about loss of control over household? Or loss of love?_

Eshton took a moment to congratulate himself on being right – it had been a very interesting day at Thornfield Hall. He had learned a great deal about the household and its occupants. For instance, the sleeping child was Adele, Mr. Rochester's ward. Eshton had known of her existence, having heard about her arrival at Thornfield Hall from France some years ago, but he had never met her until that day. She was looked after mostly by her French nursemaid, Sophie, and a governess called Miss Eyre, the child-like thing he had seen on the balcony the previous evening.

Adele and Miss Eyre had both been part of their company tonight, though not for long. Blanche and her mother both made it clear that they did not like children or governesses.

The party had gathered in the drawing room after dinner. Eshton had put aside his Rochester experiment for the moment and was having a very stimulating conversation with the Dent twins about their behavior. He was just about to ask Louisa – or was that one Amelia? – about knowing how to finish her sister's sentences, when Lady Lynn had remarked with a disdainful air, that "there were children and servants present."

On cue, Adele skipped out, flouncing the skirts of her gold party frock. Miss Eyre maintained her seat behind the screen, clutching a book and looking perturbed at her pupil's behavior. She said nothing, but only seemed eager to shrink farther into the shadows, away from such unwanted attention.

Adele had no such scruples and skipped towards Blanche, who looked at the child as if she were a toad who had just hopped out of the mire and onto the brocaded carpet.

"Oh good Lord," she gasped. "What on earth is this?"

"It is Mr. Rochester's ward, the little French girl," Mrs. Dent replied.

"Mr. Rochester, I thought you were not fond of children," Blanche simpered.

"I'm not."

"Then what on earth made you take on that little doll?" Blanche protested, in a tone that suggested she thought Adele to be anything but a "little doll."

"I didn't take her on. She was left in my hands."

Blanche sniffed haughtily and tossed her head. "Well, you should send her to school where she belongs."

"Well, school's are expensive," Rochester said, examining the toes of his boots. He looked bored, as if he wished Blanche would end the topic so that the governess might take her charge – who was now scampering towards the twins – upstairs and to bed.

But Blanche was not so easily dissuaded.

"But you have a governess, I see – there hiding behind the screen. Now that's expensive for you have to feed them both."

Rochester did not respond, nor look towards the corner where Miss Eyre sat, shrinking farther into the cushions of her chair.

Eshton silently commended Rochester for his discreet conduct. Even if Blanche was to be mistress of Thornfield Hall, Rochester must maintain some control over his own house. The Ingrams would run the county if given the power. If the governess was to be out in the cold once Rochester was married, his friend was good enough not mention to it now. What hysterics that would cause!

But alas, the subject of governess was not so easily brushed aside with the Ingrams present.

"What are you talking of now, Rochester?" Lady Ingram asked from across the room, though she was in the middle of a conversation with Colonel Dent. Dent had the dignity not to look too embarrassed at being ignored and interrupted.

"Oh, no," Blanche murmured. "Don't get Mother started on governesses."

"We were talking of governesses, Lady Ingram," Rochester said, a mischievous glint in his eye. Eshton smiled to himself. Even if Rochester did marry into the Ingrams, he would go toe to toe with the matriarch of the clan before he would submit to their will.

"Oh, don't mention them," Lady Ingram said wearily. "I'm so glad Blanche and Mary no longer have any need for them."

She sank into a chair across from her daughter, and said, as if explaining a great societal problem,

"Governesses are a nuisance, all of them. If they're not eating you out of house and home, they're carrying on with a tutor – or worse, making eyes at the master of the house."

"Really? You surprise me." Rochester said, though he did not look at all surprised. Blanche picked up the tirade again.

"Mary – do you remember, what was her name, Miss Twist or Twixt or something. We pretended she was harboring a passion for Bradstock!"

Mary seemed ashamed by the memory. "It was your idea!" she cried, but Blanche insisted on making her an accomplice.

"Yes, we were very naughty. Mother sent her away instantly in case she should set us a bad moral example."

Eshton scoffed. It was hard to imagine Miss Eyre, with her grey dress and meek demeanor, setting a "bad moral example" for anyone. It was a pity she had to sit and listen to such remarks.

"Monsieur! Monsieur! Would you like me to dance for you?" Eshton looked down at Adele, gazing up at him with wide, expectant eyes.

"Dance?" he said absently, distracted by his thoughts and trying to listen to Rochester's conversation.

The child, in all her innocence, did not seem to notice.

"Oui," she cooed, fluffing out her skirts like a coquette. "This dress was made especially for dancing and I am wearing dancing shoes. Regarde." Adele lifted her skirts an inch to show off her gold dancing slippers. Eshton bent down in mock interest, still straining to hear the murmurs of the adult conversation. He was about to excuse himself so he might move closer to the Ingrams and Rochester, when one of the twins told the child that "she may dance for them," and beckoned him to come along. She smiled so prettily, Eshton could not refuse – though he could not remember which twin she was.

When the child had finished dancing and Eshton was able to turn his attention back to Rochester, he found that his object of study had left. He went over to the bookshelf near the door, to pick out a tome to study instead, grumbling to himself about distractions.

But, while perusing the shelf, he heard voices – specifically his friend's voice – in the hall and he strained his ear to listen in.

" – Jane," he heard Rochester ask, in low, candid tones of concern, "Why are you crying?"

Whoever Jane was, Eshton could not hear her reply; she spoke too softly and there were footsteps in the hall.

"Tonight you are excused," he heard Rochester say, sternly, "But you will appear in the drawing room every evening after dinner. Every evening, mind. It is my wish."

Drawing room? Who was gone? Eshton thought. He turned to survey the room again, looking for missing individuals. The governess's corner was empty.

Poor girl, Eshton thought. She was clearly shy and unused to company; having to deal with insults from the Ingrams and scoldings from Rochester for not keeping a proper watch over her charge, all in one night, must have been unbearable.

_17 March 18–_

_Subject and B. conflict when speaking of governesses. Must explore implications. New variable – Miss Eyre. _

His experiment had been compromised the night before, but, to Eshton's delight, the events of the next afternoon provided him with ample material for examination.

It began when Miss Eyre showed up in the drawing room again – this time, sans child.

He could guess from her surprised and downcast expression that she had not expected the entire company to be there. They were supposed to be out in a hunting party, but the weather had been fickle that afternoon and pushed them to inside pursuits of reading and card games.

Miss Eyre did not bother anyone; she put her head down, avoided eye contact and walked as quickly as possible through the room, intent, it seemed, on reaching the door to the library.

Unfortunately for her, she was stopped halfway to her goal by Rochester.

"Miss Eyre – why are you not dressed for riding?"

"I do not ride, sir," she said, without the slightest apology. In fact, Eshton thought she seemed rather annoyed at the question.

But if Rochester noticed her insolence, he ignored it.

"Well then, you must learn. Come," he said, guiding her to a seat across from Blanche. "Join us by the fire."

While the others in the party bemoaned the weather and their wrecked outdoor plans, Eshton took the opportunity to observe those around him.

Rochester stood at the fire with his back turned; his face and expression were blocked from view. Miss Eyre sat stiffly next to Colonel Dent and across from himself and Blanche. The colonel acknowledged the governess politely with a nod; Blanche only glanced at her in mild annoyance. Miss Eyre, he saw, pretended not to notice the lady's expression. She avoided staring back at her and since she had no employment, began impatiently fiddling her with hands.

Louisa Dent – Eshton had finally worked out which twin was which – came bustling by in a flurry of pink silk, in search of a novel she had been reading, entitled _The Beast Within_.

"Oh I wish you wouldn't, my dear," he heard Lady Lynn admonish her. "How do you dare read such novels?"

"Oh, but it is very exciting! It is about a man who commits a crime. He spends the dark hours raging about like an animal – and then he goes about his business and no one suspects a thing."

"Nonsense!" another gentleman remarked.

"You don't think it possible for someone who seems perfectly serene and unspectacular from the outside to be capable of committing horrific crimes?" Eshton asked the group. He delighted in playing the devil's advocate and saw now that even Rochester, though he did not turn, craned his head slightly to listen.

Unfortunately, the first to respond was, as always, Lady Ingram.

"Certainly not a Christian man," she said with an air of authority. "But I'm sure Mr. Eshton has all sorts of new ideas about that!"

Eshton sighed. Lady Ingram would insist on having the right answer, no matter what was said, so he only replied. "For once I must admit ignorance. The brain is a vast and wonderful landscape. We have not even begun to navigate its mysteries. We do not know why it malfunctions. We are in the very infancy of its science."

"Science again," she said condescendingly. "You make it all sound so very grand."

She sat across from her daughter and began to explain.

"God gives people good blood and bad blood and there's an end to it."

"When Mary and I were in Paris, we went to see the savage boy. You know, the one who had lived in the woods all his life and could only talk a little gibberish – if you call it talked!" Blanched added, laughing.

"That is what I am talking about – that child had bad blood!" her mother said. "You can clean it, dress it up, but you will never make it good!"

Eshton saw that the two ladies would monopolize the conversation, though they had few intelligent answers about the topic, and he began to scan the room for an enlightened mind. Rochester was staring into the fire again, but Miss Eyre appeared to be thinking long and hard on the subject. He must draw out her thoughts.

"Miss Eyre – is it your opinion that children are born the way God intended them to be – that bad blood will always be bad blood – or, can you discipline such a child?"

The governess seemed flustered at being drawn out of her reverie and did not answer immediately – but Lady Ingram had an opinion.

"Oh course you should – that's common sense."

Miss Eyre began to contradict her, gracefully ignoring the lady's irritated sigh.

'I think it wise, that – since we must live with the adult – I think it prudent to treat a child as if they had feelings."

A compassionate soul, Eshton thought. And she speaks her mind intelligently. He saw that Dent and the twins had stopped chattering and even Rochester had once again turned his head to listen.

Lady Ingram was not so impressed.

"Really? Feelings?! A child has no more feelings than that dog over there."

"I would have thought that if you– "Miss Eyre began to reply, but was stopped by the lady's cold glare.

"Please, Miss Eyre – continue," said Blanche, hurtful as ever. "Mr. Eshton wishes to hear your opinion."

Eshton did his best to look kind; he had not meant to lead her into such a loaded conversation with this cruel bunch and hoped she would not cry.

But the governess, he saw, was no shrinking violet; though her answer was soft, it was spoken with strength and conviction and faith in her beliefs.

"I think, all children, whether they are thought to be of good blood or bad blood, deserve to be given the chance to love – and to be loved. I do not see the use of punishing a child with beating and harsh words."

"What's the use of punishment?" Lady Ingram scoffed. "From a governess? You must send that child to school immediately Rochester!"

Oddly, Rochester seemed angered by the suggestion and turned, saying the conversation – which he had been listening to intently moments before – "was wearisome". He asked Blanche if she would accompany him riding and she agreed.

Miss Eyre, no doubt eager for an escape, soon made some excuse about lessons and left the drawing room as well. The room quieted and Eshton, having no one else to observe, read for the remainder of the afternoon.

Later, he cringed at the remembrance of that day's conversation. Though Miss Eyre's presence in the drawing room seemed to make everyone uncomfortable – Rochester included – his host had insisted she mingle with the company. Why? Eshton thought. To anger the Ingrams? That hardly seemed like the behavior of a man preparing for marriage into the family. Or, did he honestly, truly desire the company of a governess?

Whatever the reason for her continued presence, Eshton could not help but feel that his friend was using Miss Eyre terribly. The governess made the experiment more interesting – but he hoped she would not have to endure such behavior much longer.


	4. The Game

When the company gathered in the drawing room the next evening after dinner, Miss Eyre was again in her corner, but the screen had been removed.

Her charge sat next to her, swinging her legs impatiently and hopped out of her chair to join the company as soon as they had all settled into the room. Miss Eyre stayed in her seat, thumbing through an old book and seemed oblivious to the rest of the party.

In fact, all of the subjects in his experiment seemed intent on pursuing solo interests tonight. Blanche had also settled down in another corner with a book and Rochester had cornered Eshton into a game of chess so quickly he could think of no reason to refuse. Though he usually excelled at all games logical, Eshton's mind was still on his experiment and he was being badly beaten.

Louisa Dent came bustling by exclaiming that she had found her book.

"Oh, but I'm sure I looked there this morning!" she said.

"Maybe the ghost took it," Adele piped in.

"The ghost?" The twins turned pale and even Blanche looked up from her book to listen. The child smiled at the attention, and continued in a dramatic and mysterious tone.

"The ghost. Sophie says it walks the corridors at night. It eats the gateux from the kitchen and it laughs in the dark!"

A loud thunder clap resounded outside the hallway and lightning flashes illuminated the faces of the guests, several of whom shrieked in surprise and terror. Blanche, however, only laughed at the excitement.

"A ghost? At Thornfield? How exciting! You never mentioned it," she said to Rochester.

He made no reply and rolled his eyes at the nonsensical idea, but Adele, eager for more attention, continued the tale.

"She walks in the corridor with the mad people. Sophie says she goes cold and shivers when--"

"Sophie is from Marseilles, which means she wears three or four outer garments even in July," Rochester interrupted. "Our English weather feeds her overactive French imagination."

"Oh." Blanche huffed. "You disappoint me. Maybe we could tell each other ghostly stories? I'm in need of a little danger!"

The other women looked intrigued at the suggestion, but Rochester brushed it aside.

"Ghost stories are of no interest. How do you know if they're true? But, my dear Blanche, if the ladies are interested, I know a game – if you're not afraid of things we might not be able to explain."

"The supernatural?" The twins gasped. Rochester chuckled and grinned wickedly.

Eshton groaned at his friend's expression – it was the same look Fairfax always got when he was planning something that usually did not turn out well.

"What are you up to, Edward?" he muttered.

"You're interested in experiments, aren't you?" he said, with a knowing look and moved to take Eshton's queen.

Eshton looked around; the ladies were all giggling and discussing Rochester's idea with interest. And his chess game was over; his friend had put him in checkmate.

"Well, I hope you know what you're doing," he conceded, laying down in his king in defeat.

When Rochester began to lay out the lettered cards and explain the rules, Eshton laughed at him and said it was a "silly game," with absolutely no basis in scientific fact. But the twins insisted that he play – the game needed eight players to make it work, Rochester explained – so, he consented. Besides, he thought as he took a seat next to Blanche and rested on a finger on the glass planchette, he was intrigued to see how his friend's "experiment" turned out – if only so he could harass him over it later.

The first couple of rounds were trivial enough. Mary Ingram sighed melancholic when the game spelled out "home" – she admitted that she was longing for home, though the party was "grand." Each of the twins giggled and blushed continuously when it was their turn, especially Louisa when the planchette guided their hands over the letters "L-O-V-E."

Blanche was the third to take a turn and she confidently tossed her blond curls and placed her finger on the planchette. They all watched in anticipation as the game spelled, "H-E-A-R-T."

"Oh, Blanche," Louisa sighed dreamily, "It means that you have given your heart to someone. Do tell us – as if we didn't know!" The other ladies in the group sent up a chorus of giggles; Blanche only blushed.

Eshton was bored and disappointed with his friend's scheme– he had expected something more shocking and grand. Surely he had not designed the game for a mere declaration of love?

The planchette began to move again. The party guests began to spell out the spirits' message.

"L...E...S...S."

"Less heart? What can that mean?" Louisa Dent mused. "Less heart . . . Heart less . . . Oh heartless!" She gasped and struggled to apologize. "Oh my dear Blanche! I'm sure it has made a mistake. It must think you're someone else!"

Blanche glared at her and rose.

"You were right, Mr. Eshton. This is a silly game," she said coolly. "I'm rather tired. I think I shall read, in bed." She curtsied and left.

Now short of one player, they all looked around for someone to take Blanche's place and continue the game. Eshton briefly mentioned that the governess might want to play, but that only earned him a disdainful sneer from Mary Ingram.

The game was over and Eshton thought Rochester looked grave, rather than pleased at the prospect.

He was confused. He was sure that Rochester had rigged the game from the beginning for his own entertainment – but why tell the woman he was trying to woo into marriage that she was cold and undeserving? Had his plan gone awry? What message had he been trying to send Blanche?

Unless . . .

Louisa Dent had been right. The message, though descriptive of Blanche, had been meant for someone else.


	5. The Conclusion

Eshton decided it was time to act. To introduce questions and gauge a response.

"Well that was a highly entertaining experiment, Rochester – though perhaps with an undesired outcome?" he queried, as the rest of the guests dispersed to go to bed.

"Hmmm . . . quite yes," Edward replied absently, fiddling with a now empty brandy glass and glancing around the room. Eshton tried to hold his friend's wandering attention with further questions.

"How shall you woo Miss Ingram now, Rochester? I can assure you that injuring her pride has done you no amount of good –

Eshton stopped and followed Edward's gaze to a corner of the drawing room, where the governess sat quietly, still turning the pages of her book. She had not moved from her spot as they began the game and appeared to have ignored the entire interlude with the company. In her grey dress and dark hair, she seemed to recede into the shadows.

She was plain, unimpressive and homely. Yet Eshton had never seen such a look on his friend's face before – a queer mixture of joy and melancholy and – longing? Longing for what? For – ?

Being a man of science, he asked, "You are still planning to court Miss Ingram, aren't you Edward?" and carefully watching his reaction to the inquiry.

He didn't respond. It was as if he hadn't even heard the question, lost in thought, his face turned toward the corner of the room where Miss Eyre had been, unaware of one who gazed at her so reverently.

It couldn't be . . . it just couldn't, Eshton thought. Edward's behavior that night struck him as so queer and unlike his character he couldn't help but questions his own scientific observations. Edward Fairfax Rochester, the man with an exotic mistress in every country across Europe, was in love with his ward's governess – a girl, a plain slip of a girl half his age. A more unlikely hypothesis had never been formed. Eshton cursed himself for not thinking of it sooner.

"Hmmm?" Edward broke from his reverie and turned to Eshton. "Miss Ingram? Well, yes – of course – Do you not approve of her, Eshton? Is she not highly accomplished, fashionable – and an excellent horsewoman? Would she not make me a good wife?"

"Oh, yes, Edward, Miss Ingram would make any man a fine wife," Eshton reassured his friend, who was becoming increasingly agitated in his protestations. "But perhaps – he glanced over at the window seat where Miss Eyre sat uncomfortably, surveying the colorful scene before her – "there is another you desire?"

Edward followed Eshton's gaze to where Jane sat, quietly, gravely. Eshton watched, smug with victory, as his friend, lapsed into a pleasant daydream.

"Am I that obvious then?" he murmured to Eshton, watching as Jane glanced at the clock and left the drawing room.

Eshton chuckled. "Fairfax, you look positively ill. I don't think I've ever seen you look happier."

"Do you think anyone else knows?"

"No," Eshton reassured him. "You have succeeded in fooling all of them masterfully, old friend – except for me, of course."

"Yes, I'd have to be a fool to try and manipulate your calculating mind," Rochester scoffed. "Do you think _she _knows?," he turned to his friend, concern creasing his brow.

Out of the corner of his eye, Eshton watched as Miss Eyre came back to retrieve her book, turning in the doorway and glancing for a quiet second to where he and Edward stood.

Like so much else about Miss Eyre, something flitted across her features like a shadow and was gone in an instant. It was the same look of longing and sadness he had seen mirrored on Edward's face. And even in its briefest, quietest appearance, the look of such passion on Miss Eyre's plain features nearly struck him down with surprise.

"No Edward," he replied. "She has no idea."

Edward sighed, half in relief, half in agony.

"But shouldn't she, Fairfax?" Eshton continued, looking at his friend probingly. "Why do you not tell her how you feel? Worried about the Rochester fortune?"

"No." Edward snapped. "No, Jane would never . . . " he trailed off, looking suddenly like the schoolboy Eshton remembered. "I confess – we are good friends, but I do not know if she would return my feelings with the same depth I have for her."

Eshton laughed.

"Rochester, you are blind." Edward glanced at his chuckling friend sharply.

"How can you be sure?"

"I can't."

"You, a man of science. You cannot be sure? You cannot prove it? Or observe and test it?" Rochester mocked him. "What about an experiment?"

Eshton sighed, reached into his pocket for his notes and tossed them across the table to his friend. It was time to admit defeat.

"I have tried, Fairfax. If you want to know if she loves you, ask the question yourself."


End file.
